


Oh it would be so Sweet, if I could be Cruel

by kitkat1003



Series: Medievaniac Times [3]
Category: Animaniacs
Genre: Gen, Wakko's Wish, author figures that having to be the bigger person when you're 14 is hard, pls watch before reading, yakko has more morals than me, yakko when he's king be like : I would like to be a angry a little As a treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:07:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27789481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitkat1003/pseuds/kitkat1003
Summary: Being King isn’t easy.  Being kind to those who’ve hurt you when you’re King is much, much harder.Or: After the Wishing Star, and after Yakko is made King-with co-rulers Wakko and Dot-he is put in charge of weeding out Salazar’s supporters from the kingdom.  That means confronting people he’d rather not.Warnings: Mentions of Canonical Character Death, Dark thoughts and themes.
Relationships: Dot Warner & Wakko Warner & Yakko Warner
Series: Medievaniac Times [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2036833
Comments: 14
Kudos: 215





	Oh it would be so Sweet, if I could be Cruel

**Author's Note:**

> Wakko's Wish is more lighthearted than I expected, considering the hype on tumblr. But hey, I can fix that.

_From rags to riches_ , one might say. Yakko remembers, after the wishing star, when they were told that they were of royal blood. He knew it already, knew that they were special, because he remembers the castle walls. Remembers the crack just beneath one brick that he’d feel when he ran down the hallway and let his fingers skid across its surface. Remembers the royal colors. Remembers his parents’ smiling faces that mirror the portrait that is all that is left of them.

Remembers fire, and screaming, and his parents finding a secure closet and locking them in there, shushing Dot as she cried, placing a kiss on each of their heads, faces smiling and yet looking so sad.

 _Take care of your little siblings,_ they’d said. _They need you. We love you._

And Yakko had only remembered that last part, for a long time, and had stuck to it. 

_He sometimes remembers Salazar’s guards, ripping him and his siblings from the closet, the **blood** on stone as they were dragged, screaming, to the throne room. How he’d clutched Wakko and Dot close, curling his body around them like a shield as they wailed, shushing them and trembling as Salazar looked down upon them as if they were less than nothing, dried blood caked under his fingernails, with familiar **black** fur, before throwing them in a carriage and having them taken far, far away from **Home.**_

He had kept his siblings away from danger at the orphanage, from unruly orphans or cruel adoptees, and then he did odd jobs to pay for food when the orphanage shut down. No one would adopt them, no one wanted to take in three children at once, and they all _refused_ to be separated.

Yakko had, once, entertained the idea of letting a couple who only wanted two children take Wakko and Dot, because then at least _they_ would have a home. He decided against it when he realized that would mean he wouldn’t be able to be sure that they were okay.

And the orphanage had closed down, and Yakko had dealt with it. He’d let Dot and Wakko play and be kids- _though they never did, not really, too busy making the house clean and making sure Yakko came home to a warm meal and bed after work_ -while he did the work.

And then Dot got sick. And _then_ the economy dried up, as the tax collector took more and _more_ from the people, and Yakko couldn’t get a penny. They saved, he sold what meager things he had. Cut off the extra fabric and turned his overalls into pants- _they were the last thing he had from Mom and Dad, but they told him to take care of his siblings, and **dammit** he’s doing his best_-, used the extra pieces to fix Wakko’s hat when it tore and he cried, and sold the rest for scarves, because it’s getting cold. His glove tears, and he desperately wants to buy a new one, because it’s a cardinal sin to have a glove like his, but there’s no room in the budget. So he _deals_. Dot is sick, Wakko can’t handle not having food for too long- _he nearly died not eating enough, and it wasn’t just starvation, so Yakko makes sure Wakko gets bigger portions and deals with the hunger pangs in the dead of night when they’re asleep and can’t hear him groan_ -Yakko can deal with a ripped glove. It’s fine.

And Dot gets _worse,_ and Wakko _leaves._ Goes off on an adventure to get money. Works for a year to get a penny, a hay penny that is just enough to make Dot well, and Plotz, the tax payer, makes up taxes and takes it to add to his pile, and Dot suffers more.

And Yakko had nearly _broke_ , when Wakko left. Because he couldn’t be sure, couldn’t know Wakko was _safe,_ could only make promises that felt like lies to Dot and hope, and _hope,_ that Wakko was fine and happy and healthy. They don’t have enough money for postage, can’t send letter, so Yakko doesn’t hear from his brother for a year, and it’s all for naught in the end, because of cruelty he should have known to expect.

And Wakko blames _himself,_ too. Yakko has to hear his younger brother apologize for not working more, for not bringing more money home after a year’s worth of work, and Yakko’s heart aches. The cheer he tries to impart in his younger sibling then doesn’t stick, and the despair clings as he comes home and sees Wakko playing on the strings of a makeshift harp.

And then the wishing star happens. His siblings almost die more than once, he thinks he’s lost them both too many times, and it is a miracle that everything goes right, that Dot gets better and they have money and food and soon a castle and kingdom.

_Yakko asks, one day, what exactly Wakko wished for. Because despite the fact that Wakko showed off the two hay pennies, they never actually **heard** what it was that Wakko wished for._

_“I wished that everyone would get what they deserved. What they needed,” Wakko had told him. “Figured that was vague enough to give me plenty, and the townsfolk deserved something too. They were hurting just like us, that’s why they tried to beat us there.”_

Yakko marvels at the empathy within a single child, but he loves his brother more than life itself, and the truth only cements that fact further.

But now he’s King, and now, while Dot and Wakko decide what paintings and random knickknacks to get rid of from Salazar’s time, he has to go through all of the people who enforced Salazar’s laws and make sure they won’t start an uprising. Brain is an advisor, and he’s quite harsh. He says that Yakko should lock them up, Yakko wants to let them _try_ and take the new home from him, see what happens, now that he has a taste of something better than abandoned orphanages and stale meals. 

They settle on making the guards and any who worked for Salazar to swear loyalty to the Warners- _however awkward the process is_ -and have more trusted people put in battalions with those less trustworthy to try and stymie an uprising.

His authority is shaky, and he and his co-rulers are young and inexperienced. But they have lived through _enough_ to have knowledge of what the people need, and with the true rulers on the throne the other countries are opening up trade routes, so prosperity is returning to the Kingdom.

So long as their people are happy, and everyone is taken care of, Yakko can almost believe they’ll be okay.

But now he sees Plotz, kneeling in front of him as the next person to be judged by him, and he wants, so, _so_ terribly, to be a cruel King. He can feel the distaste, not just from him, but from Brain, of the cruel tax collector hanging in the air, and he can see Plotz sweat.

He thinks, _**good.**_ Let him sweat, let him feel _fear_ when he looks at the kid who he was all than happy to take money from, now as his _King._

“Thaddeus Plotz,” He says. “ _Plotzy_ ,” He amends, grinning. It feels strained. The bored and relaxed air in the throne room vanishes into something still and tense, and his grip on the throne’s armrest tightens-he has fixed gloves now, but he still expects to see a flash of black when he looks down at his hands. Nothing here feels real, yet. He expects to wake up in a shack, to the sound of Dot’s worsening cough, and this man is part of the reason for it.

“Y-Your majesty,” Plotz says. Not repentant, but _nervous_. Flattering. The fact that he thinks he can say sweet things and get away with _what he’s done_ makes Yakko’s blood boil.

“I know you will swear your loyalty to the crown,” Yakko starts. “Because you will follow anyone you know is more powerful than you to make sure you stay safe and comfortable. That isn’t the issue here,” Brain raises a brow, and he looks as if he wants to speak, but he takes one look at Yakko’s face and decides against it.

“Do you know what you did, to our town?” he asks, because he wants to know what Plotz would have to say. “When you bled us dry to feed yourself? That’s almost forgivable,” Plotz opens his mouth to say something, but Yakko raises a hand. “You had to take taxes, it’s the law, and Salazar was not a kind King. Whether or not you took joy out of it is irrelevant. I could forgive you, even, for trying to kill us, because it was under Salazar’s orders, and I saw how he would punish you. See, the only thing that makes me reticent to let you off scott free is...a hay penny.”

Plotz looks pale. _**Good.**_

“Wakko worked for a year to get that penny. A _year._ While you sat and ate good food in a warm house, as my sister slowly got worse and worse, Wakko worked for a single hay penny. He came back with it to pay for the operation that would save Dot’s life. And, the moment you heard of it, you made up taxes to take it from him,” And Yakko remembers the despair, how the whole town deflated. Remembers hearing Dot cough and wondering if he should try for a heist, to steal it back, because she wouldn’t make it otherwise.

“Tell me, Plotzy, did you know what that hay penny was for?” he asks. Plotz shakes his head. “Would you have cared? Hardly. Would you have cared when I laid my sister to rest? When I _buried_ her, because she never got better? Because you took the money we needed to _make_ her better? Would you have cared then?”

He gets no reply, for a moment.

“I-um-your Majesty-I,” Plotz stammers out, but the fury that Yakko has felt for years comes to a head then and there.

“I could have you executed in the town square, and _no one_ would feel bad for you. You’re a cruel person, you only care for yourself, and you would have let the whole town _die_ if it meant you had a warm house and plenty of money to hoard,” He spits the words with vitriol. 

Plotz flinches. 

He can see the guards are shocked, as is the Brain. Before now, Yakko had just sort of waved off the people who had been tasked with enforcing the laws of the old King. And, well, before now, Yakko hadn’t felt anything because no one who’d entered had been personally cruel to them. To his _family._

He wrestles with the desire to make Plotz suffer. He’s the King, he could. No one would blame him, either. It might even discourage dissenters of his rule to try anything, to see what Yakko will do to those who are bad to his people, his family. And yet, he can’t find it in himself to.

“But, hey, the past is the past, huh? That’s what this whole shindig is about,” The abrupt change of tone is startling to everyone, but Yakko moves on as if it’s nothing. “You’re fired from your position, obviously. You will be stripped of all of the riches you took from the townspeople,” He continues, and then winks. “Save for a _single_ hay penny. Seem fair?”

“Y-yes-of course, your majesty. Thank you for your ever gracious mercy,” Plotz bows low enough that his nose brushes the floor, trembling, and Yakko rolls his eyes.

Plotz is escorted out.

“That’s enough for today. I’m done,” He gets up, and the crown feels heavy on his head somehow, heavier than normal, and he walks to his room, face planting onto the bed with a sigh.

He needs a nap.

* * *

He wakes up when he feels the bed dip with the weight of his two siblings. Flipping himself over, he puts on his best smile and sets his hands behind his head.

“Hey sibs, how was your day?” he asks, and they grin at him.

“We got to blow up a bunch of stuff,” Wakko says.

“All worthless. Not stuff that could be sold. Just Salazar’s _royal_ portraits and other nonsense,” Dot assures him, as if she could already tell his train of thought. “I’m surprised you didn’t hear the explosion.”

“Guess talking to all those guards really knocked me off of my feet,” Yakko replies with a shrug, and Dot gives him a look.

“Was it the guards or was it Plotz?” She sees straight through him, and the question stings.

“Brain mentioned it,” Wakko says. “I don’t get why you were that mad.”

“He stole the hay penny,” Yakko says, through gritted teeth. “He took the money you worked a _year_ for, the money we were gonna use for Dot’s operation,” Just saying it brings back the fury, and his expression goes dark.

“Well, yeah, but I shouldn’t have let everyone know about it, or at least brought more than one back. My bad,” Wakko shrugs, a little self conscious

“And that’s the issue! You blame yourself! Wakko, you went out at the age of _12_ and worked for a _year_ , you have _no reason_ to be guilty,” Yakko sits up and stares right into Wakko’s eyes, dead serious as he points to Wakko.

“Exactly. Plotz was clearly just looking for another bit of money to take from us,” Dot agrees. Yakko turns away, looking down at his hands, clenching them into fists so they won’t shake.

“I wanted him to _die_ ,” Yakko admits. “I wanted him to be as _terrified_ as I was, when I thought _you_ were going todie,and there would be nothing I could do to stop it,” Because it wasn’t _fair,_ and it _still_ isn’t, because even though he’s got everything he could ever want it doesn’t erase the years shivering in the cold because the wind would tear through the old planks of wood, the years of small serving sizes and pinching pennies and then pinching those pinches, for the most he could get from near nothing. And Plotz made that _worse_ , without a care in the world.

“But you’re better than that,” Dot leans against him, smiling up at him, and Yakko sighs, wrapping arm around hers and Wakko’s shoulders .

“Yes, unfortunately,” Yakko says with a dramatic sigh, hugging them close. It’s easier to forget they were hurt when they’re like this, happy and loved and _safe._

“You’re gonna be the best King _ever_ ,” Wakko’s as sincere as one can be, and when he looks up Yakko looks shocked.

“Don’t be so surprised! If you can deal with that type of anger at 14, just imagine how good you’ll be at making decisions ten years from now!” Dot adds.

“And we’ll be here the whole time,” Wakko continues. “Helping you out the whole way,” Yakko feels like his heart could burst, and he laughs.

“How’d I get so lucky with you two?” he asks, and Dot scoffs.

“Hey, _you_ raised us!” She shoots back. “This is all on you!”

And it is, Yakko knows. The kingdom, the happiness of his people, it’s all on him, even as a 14 year old. He doesn’t know how to handle it, all the responsibility. He _barely_ handled raising two kids.

_He wonders if Mom and Dad would be proud. When Dot was dying, he dreamed of their glares and disappointment, and no matter how many times he apologized, he was always a failure, and the dream would turn to blood and fire and he’d wake up with a silent scream on his lips, shaking. But now, he thinks they might be proud, and it makes him smile more sincere than he has in years._

And his siblings are still _here,_ beside him, and for once he can be sure they aren’t going anywhere, because they’re happy and healthy and safe. And they’re only like that because Yakko did his best, and made it work, and had them helping him, too, just like they will be until the end of time.

And suddenly the weight doesn’t feel so heavy anymore. Now, if only the crown would fit.

It’s fine, though. He’s got plenty of time to grow into it.


End file.
